I Will Follow
by aneverfixedmarkk
Summary: During the Victorian period of England, James Carstairs and Will Herondale discovered a cat in the Dark House. That cat became known as Church. In 2007, Clary Fray meets Jace Wayland - who just so happens to have a cat named Church. Coincidence? Perhaps. Perhaps not. Here's Church's story.


**I Will Follow**

Church was a cat. He knew this, because the term was used on him quite a lot. "_You stupid cat_," Will had called him as he'd scratched behind his ears, right before Church had always tried to bite him. Will wasn't so bad, but Church liked Jem better.

But Jem was gone, and Will and Tessa were all he'd had.

Church was a cat. He knew this, but he also knew that he wasn't a normal cat. He'd seen other cats before – even met a few. But other cats died, and Church never did. He supposed that at one point he'd been a normal cat, and that he would have gotten old and tired like all the other cats did, and eventually would have died. This probably would have happened, he supposed, if he hadn't gotten caught in that awful cage and been taken to that grimy old house… that house with the _thing_ and the (could she be called this? He supposed if he could call himself a cat, he could call her this) woman. Those two had done things to him, things he didn't like to remember. And if they hadn't done these things, he supposed, he would have gotten old and tired and eventually would have died, just like all the other cats did.

But Church wasn't like other cats. Church never died.

He didn't die when Will faded away.

He didn't die when James was killed and Lucie took ill.

He didn't die when Owen disappeared.

He didn't die when Stephen was lost to the wolves or when Marcus was lost to his grief.

And he didn't die when Celine took her life, taking with it the only Herondale life left in the world.

Because Church knew what had really happened. He'd watched from the shadows as the man had come, cloaked in black, and defiled the body of Stephen's poor, silly wife. He'd watched as the man took the last Herondale life, and hid him away.

Church was a cat, but he wasn't a stupid cat. He saw the man and saw the twisted, demented cogs at work beneath his collected façade. He knew that the man would never allow him into the manor where he kept the boy – the man would likely kick him to the curb. Literally. He knew he would be safe if he just left and found a nice family to take care of him. But Church never did. Because Church had loved the Herondale family for all his life (and he'd had a very long life indeed), and he knew he could never separate himself from them.

So Church stayed and watched. He watched the boy grow up and watched as the man tried to mold the boy into something he was not. The boy was not ruthless or cruel; he was kind and forgiving, just as Will had been, even though he'd tried not to show it – and all his children and grandchildren after him.

Church had been a housecat, but he wasn't useless. As Church watched the boy grow up he hunted for himself and found shelter for himself in the valley of the manor. He'd eaten mice and other rodents he'd caught in his claws – and even, when he'd followed the boy and the man into the woods, once tried to eat what was left over of a demon the boy had killed. That had been a bad idea. Church learned very quickly that demons did not taste good.

Church stayed and watched for ten years, until the day the man disappeared and the boy was taken away. The men who took him were strong and smart, but even they did not notice the cat follow them across the Idris country all the way to the city, where he hid away in cargo and in trunks until he was able to stow away on the aircraft that was taking the boy across the sea. Any other cat probably would have died, because where he hid there was no air. But Church was not a normal cat.

Once the aircraft had landed, and Church had regurgitated whatever field mice he'd eaten the day before, he followed the boy. The boy who was only ten years old, and yet sent to wander this noisy, dirty city all by himself. Church had lived with Shadowhunters all his life, but he knew that Will would never have let James wander around this noisy, dirty city all by himself. He knew that _Stephen_ would never have let his son wander around this noisy, dirty city all by himself.

Church was a cat, but he was fierce. He knew that the boy was capable of incredible strength, endurance, and dexterity, but all the same Church felt better as he followed the boy through the crowds, watching out for him as he'd always done.

The boy arrived on the front steps of the Institute, and was quickly taken inside by the arms of a woman with tears in her eyes. Perhaps, at least, the boy would find a happiness here. One that had been robbed from him by the man who had stolen Stephen's life, Marcus's life, and even Celine's. The door closed behind them, and he waited.

Church sat on the walkway by the steps, his tail moving absently behind him. With his head cocked and his eyes steady, he waited for the boy. The clouds parted, the sun went down, the stars appeared and the moon began to glow, all before the time the boy emerged from within. His blonde hair golden even in the moonlight, the boy sat upon the steps, his elbows on his knees and his face within his palms.

It was only a short time before the boy looked up, clearly having sensed a pair of eyes on him. The boy looked at Church and Church looked at the boy. It was a long time before either of them moved. The boy was the first to break it. Church continued to stare as the boy held out a hand. He did not make silly sounds, as people on the streets had often done upon seeing him, or squeal, the way small children had always done upon catching sight of him. The hand was covered in scars and callouses and the Marks that Church had grown used to, but as scarred as it was, it was gentle.

Church stood, and started towards the boy. It was the first time he'd been this near the boy, and his fur stood up on all sides. But not in fear. Church wasn't afraid of much. He could feel the anticipation coursing through him, pulling him towards the boy, like the strings of fate sewing them together.

Church was a cat, and he was sometimes a little dramatic.

But Church didn't care if he was a drama cat. The moment he reached the boy and the boy cupped his hand to scratch behind his ear, Church knew that this was a moment he'd been denied for ten very long years. A moment that was finally here.

Church was a cat. He knew this. But Church wasn't like other cats; He never died. Church was a cat, but he wasn't stupid or useless. Church was a cat, but he was smart, and fierce, and sometimes dramatic. Church was a cat, and Church was all of these things. But more than anything, Church was _loyal_, and he loved the Herondale family for his entire life. He'd loved Will and he'd loved James & Lucie. He'd loved Owen and he'd loved Marcus and Stephen. And though they were gone and he was still around – because he was a cat, but not like other cats, because he didn't die – he had never felt lost as long as he'd had an Herondale to love.

And as the boy, Jace they would later call him, pulled him into his lap and stroked his fur and eventually brought him inside for some warm milk, Church knew he'd finally found his home once again.


End file.
